made a journey to Paris, and constantly visited her during the

time she stayed there: she entertained her with an account of the
Court, and what passed there; and though Madam de Cleves appeared

unconcerned, yet still she continued talking on that subject in
hopes to divert her.

She talked to her of the Viscount, of Monsieur de Guise, and of
all others that were distinguished either in person or merit.

"As for the Duke de Nemours," says she, "I don't know if State
affairs have not taken possession of his heart in the room of

gallantry; he is abundantly less gay than he used to be, and
seems wholly to decline the company of women; he often makes

journeys to Paris, and I believe he is there now." The Duke de
Nemours's name surprised Madam de Cleves, and made her blush; she

changed the discourse, nor did Madam de Martigues take notice of
her concern.

The next day Madam de Cleves, who employed herself in things
suitable to the condition she was in, went to a man's house in

her neighbourhood, that was famous for working silk after a
particular manner, and she designed to bespeak some pieces for

herself; having seen several kinds of his work, she spied a
chamber door, where she thought there were more, and desired it

might be opened: the master answered, he had not the key, and
that the room was taken by a man, who came there sometimes in the

daytime to draw the plans and prospects of the fine houses and
gardens that were to be seen from his windows; "he is one of the

handsomest men I ever saw," added he, "and does not look much
like one that works for his living; whenever he comes here, I

observe he always looks towards the gardens and houses, but I
never see him work."

Madam de Cleves listened to this story very attentively, and what
Madam de Martigues had told her of Monsieur de Nemours's coming

now and then to Paris, she applied in her fancy to that handsome
man, who came to a place so near her house; and this gave her an

idea of Monsieur de Nemours endeavouring to see her; which raised
a disorder in her, of which she did not know the cause: she went

towards the windows to see where they looked into, and she found
they overlooked all her gardens, and directly faced her

apartment: and when she was in her own room, she could easily see
that very window where she was told the man came to take his

prospects. The thought that it was the Duke de Nemours, entirely
changed the situation of her mind; she no longer found herself in

that pensive tranquillity which she had begun to enjoy, her
spirits were ruffled again as with a tempest: at last, not being

able to stay at home, she went abroad to take the air in a garden
without the suburbs, where she hoped to be alone; she walked

about a great while, and found no likelihood of anyone's being
there.

Having crossed a little wilderness she perceived at the end of
the walk, in the most remote part of the garden, a kind of a

bower, open on all sides, and went towards it; when she was near,
she saw a man lying on the benches, who seemed sunk into a deep

contemplation, and she discovered it was the Duke de Nemours.
Upon this she stopped short: but her attendants made some noise,

which roused the Duke out of his musing: he took no notice who
the persons were that disturbed him, but got up in order to avoid

the company that was coming towards him, and making a low bow,
which hindered him from seeing those he saluted, he turned into

another walk.
If he had known whom he avoided, with what eagerness would he

have returned? But he walked down the alley, and Madam de Cleves
saw him go out at a back door, where his coach waited for him.

What an effect did this transient view produce in the heart of
Madam de Cleves? What a flame rekindled out of the embers of her

love, and with what violence did it burn? She went and sat down
in the same place from which Monsieur de Nemours was newly risen,

and seemed perfectly overwhelmed; his image immediately possessed
her fancy, and she considered him as the most amiable person in

the world, as one who had long loved her with a passion full of
veneration and sincerity, slighting all for her, paying respect

even to her grief, to his own torture, labouring to see her
without a thought of being seen by her, quitting the Court

(though the Court's delight) to come and look on the walls where
she was shut up, and to pass his melancholy hours in places where

he could not hope to meet her; in a word, a man whose attachment
to her alone merited returns of love, and for whom she had so

strong an inclination, that she should have loved him, though she
had not been beloved by him; and besides, one whose quality was

suitable to hers: all the obstacles that could rise from duty and
virtue were now removed, and all the trace that remained on her

mind of their former condition was the passion the Duke de
Nemours had for her, and that which she had for him.

All these ideas were new to her; her affliction for the death of
her husband had left her no room for thoughts of this kind, but

the sight of Monsieur de Nemours revived them, and they crowded
again into her mind; but when she had taken her fill of them, and

remembered that this very man, whom she considered as a proper
match for her, was the same she had loved in her husband's

lifetime, and was the cause of his death, and that on his
death-bed he had expressed a fear of her marrying him, her severe

virtue was so shocked at the imagination, that she thought it
would be as criminal in her to marry Monsieur de Nemours now, as

it was to love him before: in short, she abandoned herself to
these reflections so pernicious to her happiness, and fortified

herself in them by the inconveniency which she foresaw would
attend such a marriage. After two hours' stay in this place she

returned home, convinced that it was indispensably her duty to
avoid the sight of the man she loved.

But this conviction, which was the effect of reason and virtue,
did not carry her heart along with it; her heart was so violently

fixed on the Duke de Nemours, that she became even an object of
compassion, and was wholly deprived of rest. Never did she pass

a night in so uneasy a manner; in the morning, the first thing
she did was to see if there was anybody at the window which

looked towards her apartment; she saw there Monsieur de Nemours,
and was so surprised upon it, and withdrew so hastily, as made

him judge she knew him; he had often wished to be seen by her,
ever since he had found out that method of seeing her, and when

he had no hopes of obtaining that satisfaction, his way was to go
to muse in the garden where she found him.

Tired at last with so unfortunate and uncertain a condition, he
resolved to attempt something to determine his fate: "What

should I wait for?" said he. "I have long known she loves me;
she is free; she has no duty now to plead against me; why should

I submit myself to the hardship of seeing her, without being seen
by her or speaking to her? Is it possible for love so absolutely

to have deprived me of reason and courage, and to have rendered
me so different from what I have been in all my other amours? It

was fit I should pay a regard to Madam de Cleves's grief; but I
do it too long, and I give her leisure to extinguish the

inclination she had for me."
After these reflections, he considered what measures he ought to

take to see her; he found he had no longer any reason to conceal
his passion from the Viscount de Chartres; he resolved to speak

to him of it, and to communicate to him his design with regard to
his niece.

The Viscount was then at Paris, the town being extremely full,
and everybody busy in preparing equipages and dresses to attend